To Stumble
by OCP
Summary: Sequel of 'To Disembark.' No one can choose who they are attracted to in life. Fate is blind and doesn’t care about sex or age or race. It selfishly picks a soul mate, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. TroyRyan. Slash. Now complete.
1. Part 1

**Title: **To Stumble  
**By: **OCP.  
**Rating: **Mature. "R."  
**Pairing: **Troy/Ryan in this part.  
**Warnings: **Slash, language, and sexual situations.  
**Notes: **Hi again. FINALLY! This is a sequel to my story, _To Disembark_. I would **highly suggest** reading that, found on my userinfo. Thank you for those 56reviewsand inspiring me to write this. Right, so. The last one was more from Troy's point of view, but I thought I could do this one in Ryan's. Oh and like last time? Your stupid flames will only fuel me further, so try to refrain.  
**Be forewarned:** This story is in **TWO** parts, and you do not get both parts at once. Someone told me the last one almost turned them off at the length, so I split this one in two. Be patient, review maybe, try NOT to kill me, and I'll post the longer, concluding second half around August fifteenth.  
**Extra-special Thanks to: **Jules (**FallingWithGrace**) and Danielle (**TillThatTime**) for their incredible support, boosting my confidence, and being my first EVER betas. Love you girls! Go check out their stuff…after you enjoy this, of course.

* * *

When Ryan was exactly nine years old, he met Troy Bolton. He and his sister had transferred schools in the middle of the year, and he got put into a third grade class with the soon-to-be basketball star himself. He even sat next to him. 

He remembers being scared out his mind sitting in his chair, wanting nothing more than to cry. New didn't work so well with Ryan. He liked familiarity, and that was that.

Sharpay, his twin, had it easy. Ever since she was old enough to talk, she could make friends. It didn't work like that for Ryan. He needed her help. He needed _her_. There was a social anxiety in his bloodstream, something his sibling did not have, and it caused him to panic. This was no exception.

So as he was sitting there, gulping for air like a fish out of water, Troy suddenly placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he'd asked with a friendly, understanding smile that one did not usually see on a third-grader.

"No," Ryan had answered honestly. There was no use in lying. His dad had always told him never to lie, so he never did, even if it embarrassed him to no end. "I don't know anyone. I don't even like it here. I have no friends."

Troy had grinned at him and pulled out a piece of candy from his desk. "I'll be your friend," Troy had said, holding the sweet out to him.

"You will?"

"I swear."

It never happened. Troy ended up being popular and forgot his promise, and that was that.

* * *

Around age nine, Ryan figured out he didn't like girls. 

Not in the 'cooties' sense. Quite honestly, he had no general problem with the opposite sex. His sister was a girl, he figured, and he'd never gotten cooties from her. This was something completely dissimilar. He didn't think of them in _that _sense. The one that made his heart flutter. There was not a single girl in town or television that he had a crush on.

There were two boys, though: Roger Johnson and Troy Bolton.

Roger was his best friend. He had deep chestnut eyes that Ryan would end up remembering for years to come. He was tan, and he had a thick, Hispanic accent. He was…cute. He made Ryan's stomach do flips a thousand times in a row.

One hot summer day, they had been outside, licking vanilla ice cream cones, when he'd mused, "I like boys, I think. I like you."

And, with a smile, Roger had nodded along. "Yeah, I think I do, too." With that, he leaned over and kissed Ryan with as much passion a fellow nine-year-old possessed, which wasn't much. Hardly a second later, he pulled away and kept to his ice cream.

The start of fifth grade led to two significant things in his simple life. One, Roger moved away to Boston. Two, Troy started paying a thrilling amount of attention to him.

He had been too young to ever fall remotely in love with Roger, but he did feel a sense of loss. However, because Troy had begun being civil and noticing him, Ryan couldn't bring himself to be too depressed.

* * *

About seven long years later, Troy had kissed Ryan on the Fourth of July, and when the fireworks started moments later, Troy's arms still wrapped around him and a foreign, addicting taste on his mouth, Ryan knew he was in love. 

There had been boyfriends before Troy, but they had always been compared to the brunette. Each one of his significant others had had extraordinary traits similar to Troy, traits that Sharpay never failed to point out, but Ryan couldn't help it. For many years he'd pined pitifully for Troy. The second he was kissed, he knew he was in too deep, which was just where he liked it.

That night, Ryan had floated home on cloud nine, ignoring Sharpay's third degree. He couldn't even think properly.

Troy, the object of his undying affection, was _his_. Not Gabriella's, not Sharpay's, not anyone's; _his_, Ryan Evan's. Everything was at that very moment right in the world.

* * *

After a series of ups and downs, fights and kisses, invisibility and sex, Troy had finally kissed him in front of half the town. 

Ryan sits on his bed an hour later, still grinning up at Troy, who is pacing a hole in his carpet. He knows Troy is fretting, and by tomorrow Troy will have a face full of worry lines, but he just _knows_ that everything will be okay in the end. They have each other, after all.

"Hey," he interrupts, fingers grabbing a hold of Troy's sleeve. The athlete reluctantly stands still in front of him, and Ryan guides him to sit on the bedspread. With a gentle push, he makes Troy lie down on the pillows, and he climbs on top of him with a manic smile.

Softly running his fingertips over Troy's facial features, he smiles soothingly. "What are you so anxious about? You're practically ruining my floor." He stops suddenly, his fingers coming to a halt over Troy's high cheekbone. "You don't regret what we did…right?" Ryan asks slowly, afraid for his mending heart.

After what feels like a lifetime, Troy shakes his head. "No. I'm not. I'm yours, you're mine, utterly and completely, and I want everyone to know it. No regrets." Ryan lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

"Then why do you look ready to crap your pants?"

Troy lets out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. "My dad…he was there tonight. It's one thing to have a son who sings, but it's in a completely different league to have a son who sleeps with other men. Tomorrow is going to be Hell."

That night, Troy and Ryan sleep together, his arms always around Troy's body, holding him close. It's his vow to protect Troy. If tomorrow will be Hell for him, then he'll do his best to make tonight Heaven.

* * *

Bad weather is a rare occasion in New Mexico, so when Ryan wakes up alone in bed the next day to a loud crash of thunder, he nearly has a heart attack. Eyes bleary, he looks to the clock: almost noon. 

Downstairs, Sharpay, ever the morning bird, informs him that Troy left two hours ago, not having the heart to wake Ryan up. For the next few hours, he sulks around the house, wishing he'd been woken up. Today had already started out poorly, and the rain does nothing to improve his mood.

He forgets about his selfishness, forgets about the world, forgets about everything when there's a knock on his door, and outside stands a drenched Troy Bolton, shivering and looking more lost than ever before.

Not caring that one of his favorite shirts is going to get wet, Ryan yanks Troy inside and wraps his arms around him, trying to warm up the boy, soothe him…just do _something_.

"Oh my god, what happened? Let me go get you a towel…" He starts to pull away, but Troy's arms wrap tighter around him as he lets out a small whimper.

They stand there for who knows how long, Troy not letting go, Ryan not needing to be anywhere but here. He can't decide whether the drops of water falling on his top are tears or rain.

Eventually Ryan places a calming, loving kiss on Troy's temple and whispers, "Tell me what happened."

He can feel Troy almost go limp in his arms, and he's never known the other boy to act like this before. For the last however many years, Ryan has always found Troy to be one of the strongest people he's ever known. Seeing him near breaking point unnerves Ryan to the point of nearly panicking himself.

"Tell me," he says once more, firmer, and Troy breaks.

"I…He was so…I couldn't stay there. I couldn't. He didn't understand…he wouldn't listen to me. He hit me. My own dad hit me. He called me a faggot. He said I was disgusting and a disgrace to the family…He called you and me things…things I can't even think about. It was _horrible_. It's just…He's my _dad_, Ryan. How could he do this to me? He just kept yelling. And my mom…she's such a coward. She was crying and wouldn't even help me…I can't believe this…I had to leave, so I walked…to the only place that feels safe. And that's with you."

The grip around his waist tightens, and Ryan holds the brunette with as much love as he possesses in his eighteen-year-old body. Somewhere between dragging and holding, he manages to get Troy up to his room, undressed, and into his bed.

He stares at Troy's troubled features for hours even after his boyfriend officially falls asleep. He runs his fingers through Troy's hair. When he finally gathers enough will to move, he leans down and kisses Troy's forehead. "No one is going to hurt you again," he murmurs, "I won't let the person I love the most be hurt. I promise."

He intends to keep that promise for the rest of his life.

* * *

Disown, verb; to refuse or acknowledge one's own. Disinherit. Abandon. 

No, Troy is not disowned, but it's roughly the exact same.

Sitting outside his mother's room with his hands on his head, Ryan listens to her plead with Mrs. Bolton, and by the time he hears the click of the phone, he feels everything shatter into little pieces on the floor.

"Troy…will be staying with us for awhile," his mom says through clenched teeth, eyes bright with angry tears, and Ryan sighs. It'll be his job to break the news as gently as he possibly can, but how can one tell someone they love that his family doesn't want him?

Downstairs Troy has finally cracked a smile as he sips broth and watches home videos with Sharpay. Ryan stands in the archway of the living room, leaning against the wall, taking in Troy's smile. He doesn't want to forget how it looks, in case he never sees it again.

The object of his affection glances up with a dribble of tomato soup running down his chin, and Ryan giggles lightly before a wave of grief travels through his body, leaving him shaken. Troy notices right away and stands up, inquiry written all over his face.

Without a word, Ryan sits on the sofa and holds his arms out to Troy, who in turn hesitantly climbs back on the couch and leans against him. Why does he have to be the one to break Troy's heart this way?

"Did your mom call?" he asks with a hesitant hushed breath, and Ryan nods slowly.

He motions Sharpay with his eyes to leave, and when they are completely alone, he mumbles, "You're all mine for a few months."

For the second time in his life, he witnesses Troy's weakness exposed, and Ryan tries to hold him together even as he tries not to cry and fails miserably.

Life just isn't fair.

* * *

It's the first day to go to school since their stage kiss. Ryan is secretly a nervous wreck, but not for himself; he had always been mostly out, and after Troy had spread his business the year before, no one would be surprised. He is terrified for Troy, however. The boy doesn't need anymore shit dumped on him. 

Sharpay drives. They sit in the back, and Troy stares out the window with a vacant expression. Nothing has been the same since the news broke. Ryan doesn't know what's going through his mind anymore, and it kills him. He's not even sure Troy wants to have anything to do with him.

With a tentative move, he reaches out and grabs Troy's hand gently. He holds it up to his lips to kiss softly. Troy turns slightly, and as he sees the old him lurking behind his eyes, Ryan sighs in relief.

"Promise not to let go of my hand?" he whispers, his voice choked up with anxiety and stress.

Ryan nods and leans forward to kiss him reassuringly. "I promise. There's no turning back for us. It isn't so bad once people get used to it. They might give us crap for a bit, but we're strong. After all, we're the ones starting the revolution."

Troy nods like he doesn't believe, but they don't say anything else.

True to his word, Ryan pulls Troy out of the car, their fingers securely entwined with each other. Ryan does not plan on letting go. It's extraordinarily lucky they have nearly every class together.

People stare. But for the first time in Ryan's high school career, it's not disgust or mockery. They all look generally intrigued or…_admiring _and he honestly cannot explain why.

Still with Mrs. Darbus as their homeroom, they sit in the back with their desks close enough to comfort. The atmosphere of the classroom is thick but not terribly tensional.

Their silence is wrecked about a minute later.

"What the hell was that?" Gabriella demands, but before either Troy or Ryan can react, she slaps Troy hard on the cheek, a deafening smack reverberating through the room.

Troy's head is turned down, cheeks burning in humiliation, and something inside Ryan, something he never knew existed, snaps into place.

Before anyone can blink he jumps to his feet, his hand itching to strike the girl across the face; every muscle in his body positively calls for it. However, a hand grasps on to his shoulder and with a demanding grip it turns Ryan around. Chad is there, glaring at Gabriella whilst keeping that comforting touch.

"Relax, Evans," he says, turning his gaze to the blond. "No one's going to hurt Loverboy." For one split second, he expects to be hit for possibly offending Little Miss Princess, but Chad only smiles hesitantly and sits back down in his chair…beside Troy.

Before anyone can go further or react to Chad's surprising friendly gesture, Mrs. Darbus walks in and tells everyone to sit down and shut up. She goes off into a rant, apparently not willing to talk about _Fiddler_. When she's off into her own world about something or the rather, Troy passes a note to Ryan.

**My hero.**

He gives Troy a cheeky grin.

**I try.**

* * *

As soon as the clock hits five in the afternoon, Ryan rushes off to pick up Troy. 

When he finds him in the boy's locker room twenty minutes later, he feels his heart stop.

It's kind of slow motion as Troy looks up him, his face revealing nothing but misery. He's on the floor of the shower room, still in his workout clothes, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Troy?" he questions and then rushes over to the brunette to gather him in his arms. Troy forfeits himself almost automatically, clinging to Ryan like a lifeline.

They sit on the wet floor for God knows how long, until finally Ryan manages to find his voice. Afraid of the answer, he asks, "What happened, baby?"

"_Fuck_," Troy mumbles, his voice hushed and mechanical. The blond can't see his face, but he's sure it's cloudy. "I walked in for practice...and most of them just stared at me. I tried to ignore it, remembering what you said about judgment and revolution...Then _Coach _came in." Troy spits out 'coach' in such a vile way that it makes Ryan cringe. Already he knows where this sordid tale is going. "He announced that no _fags _were allowed on the court and for all sodomites to leave immediately."

"What does this mean?

"No more team. No more scholarships. No more basketball. No more _anything_."

Ryan doesn't know what to say, he can't even remember _how _to say anything, all he knows is that he loves the man in his arms and that the said man has lost one of his only passions.

_All because of me_, he thinks nauseously.

* * *

It is one thing to have a depressed lover in his house, but Ryan never imagined what it would be like to have a completely detached one. 

Ryan doesn't blame him, _can't _blame him because how would someone else act if their father had basically rejected him and had gotten his future snatched away? Troy is being dealt such a rough hand in life, and the only thing Ryan can do is hold Troy at night, both of them silently miserable, just waiting for a break.

For a full week, Troy does not say a word. He nods and moves and breathes and he _talks_, but he never means it. The words are simple strands of sentences that serve no purpose or insight. It makes Ryan sick. He wants so much to help him in any way, but there appears to be no opportunity available.

On Wednesday night, Troy is laying in Ryan's bed like he does every night, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly an idea so simple comes to him that he wants to kick himself for being so slow about it.

He stands at the side of Troy, gazing down with an understanding expression, his fingers running through the soft strands of hair. The brunette looks up at him, his face mostly blank. "You don't need to talk," he whispers, and he climbs into the bed, his waist fitting perfectly into the curve of Troy's bent legs. He starts kissing his clothed chest. "And I know how much you're hurting right now. But if you need to talk, I'm here. I'm here for anything, you know? And I think I figured out a way to help you forget."

Only slightly hesitant, Ryan runs the pads of his fingertips from the tip of Troy's chin to the opening of his shirt and begins to unhook each button. For every inch of skin revealed, Ryan places delicate kisses there, ones that are meant to heal. When Troy's shirt is completely open, Ryan begins at his lower navel and licks a smooth, straight line up to his mouth.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he whispers, nibbling at the softness of Troy's lips, hoping for any sort of reaction. There isn't much, but the small flame lurking beneath his eyes and the slight shake of Troy's head reassures him of hope. He smiles and leans down to properly kiss him.

**There IS a graphic sex scene here that I'm not allowed to post. If you'd like to read it, private message me with your email but do not make it a link because fanfiction will erase it. Do 'your email address' AT server DOT com. It makes life easier for all of us.**

An eternity later, Troy stirs from his position plastered on Ryan's chest. He sits up, weakly, and _truly _smiles at him. It looks pained and small, but it's definitely there. Ryan feels an incredible sense of happiness wash over him. "I love you," he whispers, entwining his fingers with Troy's.

"Thank you for…everything."

* * *

After that, things begin to get better. Not massively better, mind, but they improve. Troy takes great strides in recovering from two disappointing blows to his life. He talks with his heart and occasionally laughs so hard that he cries and their single-digit sexual encounters enter doubles. It's a welcomed improvement. 

"You know, too many episodes of _Tiara Girls _is bad for the soul," Troy teases him one night as the boys reside in the living room 'doing homework.' He is practically lying on top of the blond even after their little make-out session ended almost half an hour ago. On the television screen is a plastic girl who is being taught how to do this and that properly, and that's when an idea hits Ryan.

With a great heave, he pushes Troy off him and to the other side of the couch. He lets out a sound of protest, but Ryan puts a firm finger to his lips and he says with a smirk, "Trust me."

For the next few hours, Ryan does his best to provide Troy his lost source of happiness. It requires his awful athletic skills and making a complete fool of himself, but by the time they're finished, he can shoot a decent free-throw.

Troy practically glows as they head off the deserted court. Ryan forgot how much joy shows in Troy's eyes sometimes.

"You miss it, don't you?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Troy halts mid-step, the orange ball dropping to the concrete. Their eyes meet, one cautious and the other somewhat surprised, and Ryan wants to kick himself. If there was ever a time not to state the obvious, it would be now.

He ducks his head, flushing a little. "I'm sorry," he murmurs quietly. "I mean I _know _you miss it, but you don't need me to remind you."

Suddenly there is a finger under Ryan's chin, and he looks up only to meet a pair of sweet, teasing eyes. His shoulders relax as he sees that Troy is nowhere near upset, but he can't fight the enormous grin on his face when Troy gently shoves him in the shoulder and says, "Basketball doesn't even compare to the trade off. Nothing does, nothing will."

The meaning is clear the moment Troy winks at him, and even though he's basking in the honesty, Ryan shakes his head in mock-exasperation. "You never learn, do you? Always so corny!"

Letting out a squeal, Ryan tries to get out of Troy's grip as he is grabbed from behind and practically carried to the car. The amazing emotion pulsing in his heart almost feels too fairytale to be true. His chest is heaving in exhilaration by the time Troy presses him against the vehicle. There is a sudden reflective silence in the air when Troy's fingers begin trailing over Ryan's body, and Ryan sighs into the brunette's ear.

"_I can't take my eyes off of you_," Troy whispers as his hands tangle in Ryan's hair. The boys are flushed together, the blond pinned between the car and Troy, which is quite possibly the most perfect place to be. A surge of arousal and indescribable _love _sweeps through every vein in Ryan's body. A soft gasp escapes his mouth, eyelashes fluttering. Troy's eyes dance at the sound.

Their noses are touching as Ryan somehow, someway finds it in him to softly sing,"_I know you feel the same way, too. I can't...I can't take my eyes off of you._"

And, with one final smirk, Troy states, not sings, "All it took was one look for _my_ dream come true"

It's only after he's tangled in bed sheets that Ryan realizes Troy is saved. Saved from the world, from the hate, from the future; it's all the present, and it's all with Ryan.

He falls asleep murmuring a song.

* * *

There was a time when Ryan kissed a girl. It was one single instance at a party where, he reflects, the kids were probably drunk. They had played some lame game – something relating to a certain amount of minutes and a closet – and he had been dared to go into said closet with Tammie Nester. 

It was embarrassing for Ryan. Not only did he like _boys_, but he knew this girl was expecting a lot out of him. She had been crushing on him for about a year and had never stopped pursuing him. This game gave her the perfect opportunity to have her wicked hetero way with him.

He doesn't remember much except being pushed into the confining space with catcalls still ringing in his ears. In the dim light, he could see Tammie's smirk and her eyes gleaming with anticipation. He remembers being pushed against the wall as he desperately tried to explain his situation without actually coming out of the closet (so to speak). He remembers her not listening and placing her small, feminine hands on his shoulders…

And then he remembers throwing up all over her fashionable shoes.

That incident led to nearly a year of taunts. Everyone assumed that he had thrown up because he didn't want to kiss a girl. He always blushed and denied it, lying that he ended up being diagnosed with food poising the next day.

In reality, Ryan had been diagnosed with no such illness. He didn't want to kiss a girl, plain and simple.

No one can choose who they are attracted to in life. Fate is blind and doesn't care about sex or age or race. It selfishly picks a soul mate, and there is nothing anyone can do.

Ryan wouldn't want to change his soul mate, anyway.

On a Monday morning, Ryan is going to third period when a lowerclassmen tugs on his arm and pulls him aside to the lockers. The boy looks like a sophomore or freshman, geeky but maybe he's just come from math class. Ryan stares at this stranger like he has a third eye, which he only later realizes gave off the wrong impression. The kid ducks his head.

"Can I help you?" he volunteers dubiously as he leans against the nearby locker. The freshman/sophomore faintly blushes and Ryan can't help but smile a little. "Seriously, no need to be embarrassed," Ryan reassures him with a teasing tap to the boy's head.

He watches in slight amusement as he shifts awkwardly and barely reaches Ryan's eyes. The smile that started gracing his lips quickly vanishes within a second. The younger peer has locked eyes with him, his face showing nothing but earnest gratitude.

"You and Troy have helped me more than you will ever know. Thank you."

He walks away then, leaving Ryan staring in that direction even after the underclassman is out of sight. His mind is spinning and, for that singular moment, Ryan is too thrown off guard to speak. This boy - someone he doesn't even _know _- randomly pulled him aside and thanked him. He thinks he knows why; could it be that the strength Troy and Ryan possess actually affect the people around him positively?

Suddenly a pair of arms slips around his waist to pull him close. Ryan softly giggles and leans back into the touch. "You look...confused?" Troy notices aloud as they stand there in complete serenity, indifferent to the people around them.

"A little," he admits, but before he can go into detail, the bell rings and they jump apart, sprinting to their individual classes - not before giving one another a sweet, casual kiss.

Ryan believes they should've come out a long time ago.

* * *

A week later, Ryan passes that freshman. 

For the rest of the day he breaks out into random grinning, his mind replaying the image of that boy holding hands with the raven-haired boy beside him.

* * *

On November 30th, it is Ryan's parents' wedding anniversary. They dress up in fancy clothes, and prior to them leaving for their dinner reservation, Troy volunteers to be the night's photographer: a few of the parents, one with them and Ryan, one with them and Sharpay, and a family photo. 

Still with a vivid light stinging his eyes, Ryan isn't sure he hears properly when his mother unexpectedly suggests, "How about one with Troy in here? Shar, do you mind?"

His sister enthusiastically takes the camera from Troy's grip, but the brunette stands rooted to the spot. For first time with his family, Ryan doesn't comprehend either. It's not... peculiar, per se, because they're perfectly open to his family; however, there's that bit of hesitation to be affectionate in front of his parents. An unwritten rule has passed between him and Troy to keep all body parts separate near the adults. Instead of playing along, he awkwardly shuffles his feet and waits for someone else to take control of the situation.

Sharpay, naturally, is the one to speak. "Don't be shy, boys. We know everything that goes on between you two. We're not exactly deaf."

Moments later, a blush covering his face, Ryan stands beside his dad and Troy, his mom on the other side of his boyfriend. He knows he must look like a tomato, and Troy, upon further inspection, doesn't look much different. There's a solid six inches of space between them.

"Scoot together, losers. We have a photo of love in the making!"

With a weak smile Ryan takes a step right until their shoulders are touching. Like a reaction he can't control, Ryan's arms slip around Troy's waist and his head lies gently upon the familiar shoulder. Sequentially, Troy brings him closer as he rests his chin on the blond hair. And, in Ryan's opinion, they click.

Only two words go through his mind:

_Soul mate_.

* * *

"This a lovely picture of us." 

"Since when do you say 'lovely'?"

"...Since we became a lovely couple, duh."

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Um…What?"

"When did you, y'know, figure out that you loved me?"

"That's...an impossible question to answer. And, before you say anything, hear me out. There was no epiphany or sudden burst of 'oh my God I'm in love with him!' It was just...there. I don't know how to explain it. In a small way, I was always in love with you. I had liked you for years...hated you at times...and when we were finally together, when we just _were_...I knew. I wasn't even _that _surprised. I just didn't know how to tell you until the bathroom while I was, embarrassingly enough, crying."

"You're cute when you cry."

"You're always cute."

"Do you think...never mind."

"What? Do I think what?"

"That we will be together for..."

"Forever? Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can finish your sentences, and that is the clearest sign there is."

* * *

Ryan never believed in perfection. 

Even as a young naïve child, he never thought anything was flawless. Christmas was never just right because even though countless presents rested under a beautiful tree, he still had to survive a two-hour church service. His birthday was close to perfect, but every year he had to share it with Sharpay, which made it less…special. The way he viewed the world was never perfect, always optimistic, but never perfect.

For a long time Ryan thought Troy and him were perfect.

He was wrong.

* * *


	2. Part 2

**Title: **To Stumble  
**By: **OCP.  
**Rating: **Mature. "R."  
**Pairing: **Troy/Ryan…mostly.  
**Warnings: **Slash, angst, language.  
**Notes: **As promised, second and final part to this story. I hope I didn't kill anyone with the wait (admit it, it was brief!) and after just the first few minutes you'll be thankful I ended it where I did. Yes, this part is not the happiest, but I suggest you try to keep reading through to the end. As I've told my reviewers, you will _probably _be content by the end. Have confidence in me, people! Seriously! Well, regardless, enjoy.  
**Extra-special Thanks To: **My betas, Danielle and Jules. And to Annie (**Dragon Pants**), for making me actually want to post this.

--

On the first day of Christmas break that Friday, Ryan and Troy are goofing off in his room – singing ridiculously to the radio – when there's a tentative knock at the door. Without a second thought Ryan opens it and, when he sees their visitor, his mouth drops open.

"Hi, boys," Mrs. Bolton says hesitantly, and Ryan throws a glance back to look at his boyfriend. Shock is written in bold letters over his face. She follows his gaze.

With slow, strained steps Troy approaches them. Ryan can't – won't – tear his eyes away. Troy's hand slips into his, fingers entwining for security; all the while Mrs. Bolton standing beside them. He can't even imagine what this confrontation is doing to either Bolton.

"Troy…" Mrs. Bolton chokes out, and judging by the sound of her voice, she's crying. The grip on Ryan's hand tightens and he waits for the inevitable.

It comes only a second later.

"It's time to come home."

--

At the age of seven, Ryan's brown Labrador got hit by a car. The two-year-old dog was injured and rushed to the veterinarian. They tried everything under the sun, but at the end of the day their hope died, and so did she.

Ryan can still recall in clear imagery when he came home from second grade and his mom gently told him the news. "Juliet escaped today. She ran so quickly that we didn't realize she was gone until too late. A car hit her and she's in doggie-heaven now. Oh sweetie, don't cry."

Because he was so young, Ryan had never experienced _real _grief before and that day truly shattered a seven-year-old fantasy. He'd always thought that loss would come when he was old and his skin needed to be ironed. Losing his dog and the missing that followed hit a chord in him.

Losing Troy is infinitely worse.

Despite Troy didn't get hit by a car and he certainly didn't die makes little difference. Ryan hadn't realized that every single thing had changed with Troy – his habits, his words, his routines, his entire day– until he was left struggling without the boy.

The day after Mrs. Bolton had dropped the news, Ryan puts on a happy face as Troy packs away what has been his life for over nearly two months. So much information had been told, all of it a swirl in his mind: _divorce_, _mistakes_, _love you still_, _new house a few miles away_, _forgive me, please_, and so on.

He watches as Mrs. Bolton thanks his mom and takes Troy's bags to the car. Troy sheepishly grins and hugs his parents, and they tell him there will always be a loving, open door for him. Troy hugs Sharpay and kisses her cheek, whispering something in her ear that makes her blush and nod. And then it's down to him, and Ryan feels guilty for being so miserable.

They look at each other for a moment, lost in a reverie of bittersweet reflection, until Troy places his palm in Ryan's. The blond tries to smile and actually manages not to throw a fit. There's no reason; he'll see Troy probably the next day, but he simply doesn't want to give him up.

"Promise to call you later, Ry." Troy winks, kisses him chastely on the lips, and walks out the door.

And that's when the missing starts.

He tries to go back to the way things were before Troy, but it doesn't work. Troy left at nine o'clock in the morning, and by nine o'clock at night, he has already frustrated himself to the brink of insanity. When he was getting dressed he had pulled out a shirt and looked around to ask Troy's opinion. When lunch rolled around, he had asked out loud, "Wanna go somewhere?" and was thrown off guard when he was answered with silence.

It's like a break up, but not as intense. He misses living with Troy. He misses _having _Troy. The day he had held Troy in his arms after the initial abandonment, he had said, "You're all mine for a few months." That time was over and Ryan has no idea what to do with himself.

When Troy forgets his promise and the phone never rings, Ryan goes to bed cradling a lonely heart.

That night as he fights for sleep, he thinks about his life. He thinks about everything. Ryan specifically thinks back to earlier as the car had pulled away. He wonders how Troy could be forgiving to a mother who _deserted _him. If his own mom had done that, Ryan knows that he would've never forgiven.

_Not when…not when Troy had me as an option instead_. Ryan knows he's selfish to think that, but he _does_ wish that Troy had chosen him over his mother.

--

Ryan wakes up cold.

--

That Sunday, Ryan abruptly gets a horrible feeling in his gut. It takes away his breath for a second and, even though his paranoia is tugging at him, he writes it off as a case of heartburn.

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rings.

And when he hangs it up, he can't breathe at all.

Sharpay walks in eating an apple, humming merrily to herself. However, one look at his face makes her drop it to the ground. "Ryan, what's wrong?"

It's raining. It reminds Ryan of the day Troy knocked on his door and clung to his shoulder like a child. He assumes it's raining, anyway. Every inch of his shirt is soaked, as is every piece of his body, but maybe his tears have drowned him. Either way, he tastes the bile in the back of his throat and the water stinging his eyes and nothing really matters anymore.

He believes that everything happens for a reason, or at the very least, everything leads to an ultimate plan. Ryan firmly believes in fate, faith, and destiny. This particular circumstance, though, does not make any sense to him at all. If this is his destiny, he hates it.

That phone keeps ringing in his head. What would've happened if he hadn't picked it up? Then again, it would've happened eventually. Better he hear it directly from Troy rather than an answering machine.

In the smallest way, Ryan understands why Troy did it. Despite his hesitant words, he could tell Troy was conflicted and gave the best possible explanation. He understands, but he doesn't accept that this is happening to them...not again, not ever again. It had only been two months. Those two months seem like a lifetime, so Ryan doesn't know what to do now that a lifetime is over.

When a hand covers his out of nowhere, Ryan doesn't even flinch. Slowly he turns to look at his visitor in the pouring rain, and he's a little shocked to see Sharpay sitting beside him on the soaked grass. Her hair is quickly wetting, her expensive clothes are getting drenched, but she makes no remark about it. His sister just leans her head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he whispers over the roar of the downpour. Ryan feels her sigh against his shoulder.

Her voice cautious and caring - not exactly Sharpay-esque - she says, "You've always been there for me, Ry. It's time for me to be there for you. I'm _so _sorry."

They sit there for God knows how long. The storm shows no sign of stopping and, uncharacteristically, Sharpay shows no sign of leaving. She keeps holding his hand and waits for him. Despite his twisted heart, he barely turns his lips up. He's never been more thankful for his twin.

"He said that it was his fault," Ryan suddenly murmurs. Sharpay glances up at him questioningly. "His parents finalized their divorce. That's why he could finally go back 'home.' He blames himself for all of this. He thinks that being straight will fix his broken family. I prevent that apparently, which is why he said we couldn't..._be _anymore."

It keeps raining over him even as Sharpay discards her cold exterior and hugs him tightly. But judging by his sobs, he's only soaked by heartbroken tears. Rain cannot compete.

--

For the first seventeen years of his life, Ryan always enjoyed Christmas break. The family has time off; they have big dinners, a beautiful tree, and amazing presents. This eighteenth one is anything but enjoyable. He spends Christmas morning curled up on the couch, staring through – not at, but past – the television. Determining by the newly lit sky, it's still early and Ryan isn't sure when he first came down, but he can hear Sharpay trouncing down the stairs with their parents.

"Ryan, since when are you an early bird?" Sharpay seems bright, but he can see the significant amount of concern in her eyes.

_Since I stopped sleeping_, he thinks darkly, but before he can speak it aloud, Sharpay grabs his hand and pulls him up to open presents.

He goes through the morning in slow motion. Each reaction is similar: _thank you_. _I like it. _Push it aside. Wait to lie again. It's plainly obvious that he's not happy at all, but his parents won't mention it. No one mentions anything potentially upsetting to Ryan anymore. His mother made the mistake of holding up the picture from her anniversary with Troy in it, and moments later the beautiful glass frame was a shattered mess on the floor. They all learned their lesson quickly.

As the presents wind down and each member of his family departs from the tree, Ryan notices a small present hiding behind a box. He grabs it and, after he reads the note, he takes it upstairs and shoves it under his bed.

Sitting down on the mattress, Ryan is in awe. He simply can't believe Troy would have the _nerve _to leave a present for him. How dare him. He bites his lip to prevent himself from crying.

Hours or maybe minutes pass until the phone rings. Ever since the fateful phone call from Troy, Ryan has avoided all phones. He makes no move to get it, but waits for Sharpay to come in if it's important.

She does; her face is solemn and slightly pissed off. Just one look and he _knows _who had called. "That was Troy," she says warily, almost afraid to perhaps harm him. Ryan doesn't even blink. He knew it. He always knows when it comes to Troy. "I told him to fuck off."

For the first time in a long while, he smiles slightly.

"Thank you."

--

January third is the first day back from break. Ryan would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about what he would have to face.

He walks in calm and grinning because the last thing he needs is people thinking he's weak. Though it may not be true, Ryan wants to show his peers that he can survive without the Wildcats' superstar. Heartbroken is something he will not show today – not on the outside, anyway.

He and Sharpay are heading to first hour homeroom, and that's when a familiar mop of brown hair catches his eye. Like a habit, he turns to take a closer look and only seconds later he wishes he hadn't. His world crashes into nonexistence. His soul that was attempting to heal shatters all over again. Ryan can't comprehend what he's seeing.

There's Troy, and he's gently kissing a blond, junior cheerleader.

Vaguely he hears Sharpay whisper, "Shit," beside him, but he can't turn to agree. All he can do is stare and feel sick to his stomach.

Something inside him snaps into place as other places crack. He doesn't know what exactly, but maybe it's bold courage. Because without a second thought, he puts on a neutral face and continues walking to first hour, right past Troy. In fact, Ryan has never felt more courageous in his life.

Then why does he feel like his existence has just exploded into a thousand little pieces with absolutely no faith in his heart of ever repairing it?

He doesn't know if Troy sees him, and frankly he doesn't want to know, for he refuses to believe Troy would intentionally hurt him _this _bad. They'd broken up, but Troy couldn't have gotten over him that quickly. Or, at the very least, Ryan hopes not.

As he arrives at his first hour a few minutes before the final bell and sits down, he tries to ignore the burning in the back of his eyes. News travels fast clearly, considering the whole class is staring openly at him. He wills himself not to tear up, especially not in front of all these people who are waiting for the inevitable crying.

Already he can hear the imaginary whispers behind his back. _Troy Bolton isn't gay, did you hear?_..._That Evans kid was so played by Troy. It's hilarious_…_Looks like Loverboy is back to being a nobody now that his boyfriend dumped him_…_Troy is going out with Jamie because the queer phase is over_…Every rumor imaginable will be all over East High in due time.

Much to his displeasure, Troy walks into class about a minute before it's scheduled to begin. Hesitant blue eyes meet loathing blue eyes, Ryan silently begging that Troy won't come over, but his prayers go unanswered. Every student is gaping at them, and Ryan wants nothing more than to scream at them to mind their own business.

There's nothing to watch. It's a train wreck already derailed with no survivors on board.

Troy opens his mouth to speak when he gets to Ryan's desk, but he holds up his hand. "Save it," he growls lowly, trying to keep his voice quiet enough for their privacy. The shocked, _hurt _expression fuels his words. "I get you, Troy. It's all quite clear to me now. Really, I promise."

Judging by the lack of movement, Troy does not understand, making Ryan roll his eyes; did Troy not get the hint that Ryan wanted Troy _out _of his life? Everyone caused pain for others, but no previous pain amounted to the feeling he had then.

"Do me a favor, Troy," he says, motioning with his hand for Troy to come closer so he can whisper. Desperately ignoring the overwhelming aroma of Troy, Ryan leans forward. "Leave me _alone_," he practically spits out, his voice full of repulsed venom.

Troy sits back on his heels, devastatingly shocked. He begins to blabber wildly, and as he's about to say something about _loving_ him, Ryan simply cannot take it anymore. Still seated, he reaches over and pushes Troy's shoulders so the other boy falls backwards into the desk. The room that was already hushed goes completely silent.

"I _said _get away from me! You're not worth all of this shit, Troy. You're not. You're not worth anything anymore." He turns his fiery gaze away from Troy to stare at a blackboard. Softly, though audible to everyone in the room, he murmurs, "I hate you, Troy. I _hate _you."

The bell rings and the teacher walks in, leaving the class to sit stunned in their chairs. Troy slowly gets up, and Ryan ignores him.

For the first time in his life, Ryan truly thinks he may actually hate Troy. He hates Troy for destroying him, discarding him, and acting like it hadn't meant anything. He hates Troy because, when it comes down to the very last ounce of his soul, he will _always _love Troy. From always to forever until eternity, he will love Troy, damn it.

A single tear falls from his eye and rolls down his cheek. He doesn't bother wiping it away.

--

Miracles are a strange phenomenon in the world. They're a blessed incident to help or possibly save a person. In fact, Ryan has had his own generous share of miracles.

When he was born on March fifth, he didn't breathe for a full two minutes. He had actually been the _first _twin, which are usually the healthier babies out of two, and everyone figured that there was regrettably no way his sister would survive. Even when he finally let out his first wail, it was almost inevitable that he'd have brain damage.

However, Sharpay was born about seven minutes after him and was perfectly healthy. She weighed only a few ounces less and let out a sharp cry that made the nurses wince. That in itself was a miracle; when Ryan made a full recovery with no apparent disability, the second miracle of their young lives had already happened.

Then there was the time that his mother drove off a hill and her car rolled down for feet. The possibilities of his mother surviving a crash like that was almost nonexistent, but a miracle placed its sacred fingers upon their lives and saved his mom. Mrs. Evans walked away from her car with only a single scratch on her arm.

Ryan firmly believed in miracles, which was why he prayed every night for one to rescue him from this downward spiral.

And his wishing pays off when there's a knock at the door a few days after his outburst in class. He's just finished working out, so his body is hot and suffocating, but when he opens the door, he turns warm for a completely different reason.

"Remember me?" asks the extraordinarily gorgeous teen on the porch, and Ryan nearly has a heart attack trying to figure who this is. The other boy has dark, tanned skin and the accent of his voice suggests he's Hispanic. He has dark, curly hair and devastatingly beautiful chocolate eyes. Surely he would remember this _God_…

As the guy cocks an amused eyebrow, Ryan frowns pitifully. "Can I use a lifeline?" he ventures weakly, a soft blush covering his already pink cheeks, and the other boy laughs.

"Okay." He smirks and places a hand on Ryan's shoulder, which makes him freeze. "Let's see if this helps. 'I like boys, I think. I like you.' Ring a bell, Ryan?"

Ryan's eyes widen, a grin spreading quickly across his face. "Roger! Oh my God!" Without a thought to his disgusting body, he flings his arms around his long-lost friend. Roger laughs at the tight the embrace, placing his hands on Ryan's back and hugging him back. The embarrassment quickly follows. "I _so _should not be hugging you right now. I'm a gross mess."

Pulling back, Roger looks him deeply into the eyes in such a way that makes Ryan melt. "Don't worry about it. It's too amazing to see you, Ry." It's then Ryan realizes Roger's fingers still hold him close by the waist, and he smiles at him.

This is _exactly _what Ryan needed.

--

Roger moving back to Albuquerque is one thing; it's a completely amazing thing to find out that Roger has been into guys ever since their childhood kiss. The way he explains this – grinning, pointedly, his eyes twinkling – suggests that Roger is into one particular guy by the name of Ryan Evans. And Ryan is more than thrilled.

Come Monday morning, Ryan, Sharpay, and Roger walk into first hour. Waiting for the bell, they're sitting side-by-side in desks and Roger leans over to Ryan. "A really cute brunette is staring at you," he whispers, his eyes traveling behind Ryan for a moment. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who the said brunette is. "Who is he?"

With a sigh, Ryan doesn't even look back to double check. "That, my dear friend, is my least favorite person in this school. Troy Bolton: varsity basketball captain, heart throb, dating the hottest junior girl-slash-cheerleader of East High, and to top it all off, my ex-boyfriend as of three weeks ago."

Roger grows wide-eyed. "Dude!" he exclaims, playfully hitting the blonde's shoulder. Ryan smiles faintly and averts his gaze to the paper in front of him. "What a catch! Why'd you break up? And why the hell is he dating a _girl_?"

"Because," Ryan says firmly, fighting the heartache that is only beginning to fade in his chest, "to him, being straight would fix his life. And apparently, it has. He's back on the basketball team – he was kicked off by his dad, the coach, when he found out about me – and I heard his parents are speaking again. He's just…happy now, I suppose. Good for him."

A soft, forgiving hand covers his. Ryan looks up in surprise, and Roger gives it a squeeze as he laces their fingers together. "But you're not happy," he states soothingly, having already figured it out. Just barely Ryan nods. Roger's eyes suddenly begin to sparkle, a cheerful grin gracing his lips.

"Hey, Ryan?" he says loudly, enough for everyone to hear. Ryan's heart pounds a little quicker.

"Um…yes?"

"I like boys, I think. I like you."

Ryan understand immediately then, and he can't help but truly smile at the answer to all his misery. "I like you, too." He giggles, repeating Roger's words from nine years ago, and without missing a beat, he leans over and kisses Roger directly on the mouth. He means it to be a soft peck, but Roger's hand comes up to his neck and pulls them closer, practically devouring Ryan, thus giving him one of the best kisses of his life.

When he turns back around, he resists the urge to look at Troy.

--

On the way to third hour that same day, an arm grabs him out of nowhere and pulls him roughly into an empty classroom. Ryan turns to face his capturer, panicked a bit. The feeling vanishes when he comes face-to-face with none other than Ryan's walking depression.

Before Ryan can protest being manhandled, Troy holds him by the shoulders and demands right in his face, "Who the fuck was that, Ryan?"

Ryan yanks himself out of Troy's grasp. "Roger. Roger Johnson. Old friend and…new boyfriend." He smirks indifferently at Troy's flustered look.

"Are you trying to upset me? You can stop screwing with me now, really. Mission accomplished!"

_As selfish as ever_, Ryan muses, enjoying the upper hand he so clearly has. At the same time, he is dying to get as far away from Troy as physically possible. He doesn't want to be this close to him; Troy will only lead to more mess. "I'm doing this for _me _because I actually _like _Roger, Troy. It's not all about you."

"Well I don't like it!" Troy shouts, throwing his arms up to prove a clearer point. Ryan just stares at him, disbelieving. "I don't like him, Ryan. I don't want you to date him."

Troy Bolton has never been the brightest of the bunch, Ryan realizes, but he never understood how warped Troy really is. He can't fathom that Troy is insisting that he, Ryan, should not date the guy he likes. Hadn't it been Troy to call it quits? Hadn't it been Troy that caused so much pain? Hadn't it been Troy who dated a girl only a week after they'd broken up? Hadn't it been Troy who took himself _out _of Ryan's life?

It had been. And now he's expecting Ryan to follow his every command?

_Fuck. No._

Ryan sees an angry red, and blinded by it, he pushes Troy against the wall. "All I hear is what _you _want, Troy. But listen here: what _you _want no longer has anything to do with _me_. You lost your rights to any part of my life when you broke up with me. I didn't demand you stop dating that blond whore who's slept with most of the football team. I didn't pull you aside and claim you change your mind about our situation. I didn't tell you to do anything! You know why? Because we _aren't _apart of each other's lives anymore. I did just as you wanted. I respected your wishes. I erased myself from your fucked up life. You got what you wanted. You took back your heart. And you know what, Bolton? I'm taking mine back, even if you're not willing to let it go. You have _no _right anymore. _Deal with it_."

And as Ryan walks away from Troy with as much dignity that he has left to give, he decides it is the right thing to do.

He tries not to remember the crystal-clear picture of Troy listening to him, hot tears rolling down his suddenly understanding face.

It's for the best to move on.

He hopes it is, anyhow.

--

Valentine's Day is right around the corner, and as Ryan sits at his desk doodling little hearts, he wonders where the time has gone. There are only three months of school left before he graduates. Another six and he'll begin college. Life is moving too fast, and he can't wrap his mind around it.

He and Roger have been dating for over a month now. Roger is a kind, considerate boyfriend who always holds Ryan's hand and has no problem kissing him in public. He always puts Ryan first and tries desperately to fix everything in Ryan's life. Roger will hold him close in the evenings and whisper sweet nothings in his ear until Ryan is nearly a puddle on the floor. And he gives mind-blowing blowjobs (no pun intended).

Roger is everything that Troy never achieved in their relationship. This teenage love affair is healthy and damn-near fairytale perfect. He has absolutely no reason to complain.

But there is one huge monstrosity of a problem.

He simply cannot stop comparing every single thing Roger is and does and says to what Troy was and did and said. No matter how hard he tries, he can't prevent the way his mind works. And he hates it.

On dates, for instance, Roger will show up in khaki pants and a somewhat wrinkled t-shirt from Hollister, and Ryan will muse that Troy always showed up in flattering jeans and ironed shirts that showed he cared about their night. Or, other times, there will be a problem and even if Roger manages to repair it, Ryan will think about how Troy would've handled it. Even when they're discussing topics as silly as singers, Ryan will remember how Troy would've responded and laughed at things that Roger usually doesn't understand.

When he and Roger kiss, Ryan finds himself imagining shaggy hair and lighter skin and beautiful ocean eyes that shone…And when he begins admitting to himself that he likes Troy's god-given ability to kiss until Ryan was weak at the knees, he knows he needs professional help. This can't be beneficial.

Somehow Troy finds a way to mess up Ryan's life, despite that they haven't spoken in four weeks.

Ryan struggles his very best to hide his problem after stopping his thoughts clearly won't work. Roger constantly falls for it when Ryan insists that no, nothing is wrong, that he's just a little distracted. Maybe, if he keeps ignoring the problem, it'll go away in time.

Two days before the fourteenth of February, Ryan is getting up from his seat after the bell has rung when a pair of arms wrap around his waist. "Hey there, hot stuff," Roger murmurs in his ear and Ryan definitely does _not _think about all the times Troy did that. No, really. He doesn't.

Putting on a rather fake smile, Ryan turns around in the grasp and stands on his toes to kiss Roger softly. "Hi yourself," he says quietly and looks around to make sure nobody is still in the room…Nobody being no one in particular…Especially nobody by the name of Troy…

"We still on for our Valentine's dinner?" Roger asks, completely oblivious to his boyfriend's current thoughts. Guilt washes over Ryan in a suffocating wave, and unwilling to get into it he just nods and mentions something about needing to sign up for the late-winter musical.

Both boys go up to the announcement board, Roger poking fun at a ridiculous picture of Ryan below the sign ups. He writes his name under 'singles audition' because Sharpay chose to be an assistant director instead. "I was wondering when Darbus would come back from breaking her hip. I absolutely love…"

His eyes land on a name a few lines above his, leaving him momentarily speechless. That silly scrawl he would recognize anywhere; Troy often wrote little messages on Ryan's bare skin that would make him blush and writhe in lust. Shaking his head out of it, he opens his mouth to finish his sentence when Roger suddenly says softly, "Him."

Ryan whirls around with confusion, partially knowing what Roger is referring to – rather, _whom. _"What? What do you mean?"

Crossing his arms with a quiet chuckle, Roger cocks his head. Pity is written all over his face. "You know who I'm talking about, Ry. I've tried to ignore it, hoping you'd get over him eventually, but maybe that was the problem. There was no time for you to recover, much less love me, you know? Maybe someone will help you forget, but that's not me. And it's _okay_. We can be friends."

"Roger, what do you mean? Please don't…"

He sees the mist of tears cloud over Roger's usually sparkling eyes. Gently touching Ryan's cheek, he smiles. Ryan, who is nearly ready to break down, keeps murmuring for Roger to not say such things because they aren't true. To quiet him, Roger places his finger on his lips. "I know you still love Troy."

Ryan grabs the other boy's finger and pulls it away. "No, Roger. I swear I don't love him. He's a fucking asshole who nearly _killed _me. I hate –"

"That he dumped you. You hate that you don't have him anymore. You hate your life without him. You don't hate _him_. You _love_ him, Ryan. You do."

He leans forward for a last, harmless kiss. With a heaving sigh, Ryan leans his forehead against his new ex-boyfriend. As much as he does not want to admit it, he knows Roger is right. Roger knows more about Ryan than Ryan does about himself. So what does that mean? Be lonely until he heals? Then again, he's not sure he'll ever fully mend. It's too much to think about. He only knows one thing.

"I…do. I'm so sorry."

--

Ryan never thought he was one to be bitter.

As the saying goes, 'You learn something new everyday.' And in his case, Ryan finds out he can be quite bitter.

Everything gone haywire is Troy's total fault: his unhappiness, his solitude, his terrible home life, and to top it all off, his now slacking grades.

He's sitting in Trigonometry when he gets his test back. Generally, Ryan excels in all areas of school, particularly math. The bright red C- momentarily throws him. He blinks once, as though willing the nasty mark to go away, but it's still there a minute later.

Almost subconsciously his gaze slides right to look at Troy, and his eyes narrow at the sight. Troy is grinning at his apparent good grade, blissfully unaware that he's the source of Ryan's suffering. That arrogant expression, the way he flaunts himself, acting like he's truly the best…it makes Ryan's blood boil. And in a matter of seconds, Ryan snaps.

He starts _yelling _at Troy. Not regular yelling; no, he begins positively screaming. He proclaims that Troy is an asshole who has ruined his life and should go to hell because damn it, it's true. It only takes a moment until Troy retaliates with his own share of rude words. The class is deathly silent, and even the teacher seems in shock watching the two boys tear each other apart – verbally and soon enough, physically.

Only for a second does the teacher stay motionless, though. Next thing Ryan realizes, he's being literally _pulled off _of Troy, his lip throbbing and his knuckle slightly bruised.

"Troy Bolton and Ryan Evans, this is unacceptable!" Mr. Girard exclaims, making Ryan wince. He knows what's coming. Girard is too kind for his own good, and the worst he'll get is…

"Detention. Both of you. Six o'clock sharp."

Ryan shoots Troy a death glare, for once wishing that looks could actually kill.

It's all Troy's fault. And Ryan is stuck dealing with too many penalties to count.

--

"Ryan."

Keep scrubbing. Maybe he'll give up.

"Ryan Evans. Look at me."

Stand up and grunt loudly. Give him the hint. He's not that dumb. Ignore the eyes burning a hole in his back. Continue washing the sink.

"You're so immature, did you know that?"

_And you're a selfish dickhead. But you don't see me saying that._

Just keep cleaning.

"You can't ignore me forever."

With an annoyed sigh, Ryan drops the sponge back into the bucket and turns around to face his unwelcome company. As he expected, Troy is staring hard at him, his gaze stony and aggravated. He's not the only one.

"I'm not ignoring you," Ryan says softly, finally, after careful reflection. He averts his eyes when his weakness crumbles, and he wishes he were anywhere but here because then he wouldn't be telling Troy the truth. "I'm protecting myself."

Troy opens his mouth to retort, but the words seem to sink in almost visibly. An enormous amount of guilt covers his face, one side of his mouth going down in a frown. As he scratches the back of his neck, clearly at a loss of what to say, Ryan shakes his head in defeat and goes back to his detention.

They don't talk anymore after that.

But barely, like a murmur of a ghost, Ryan thinks he may hear Troy whisper, "I'm sorry."

Ryan spends the rest of the hour convincing himself that soap must've gotten in his eyes because that's the only justification for the tears that sting them.

--

Time flies, Ryan realizes as he knots his tie loosely around his neck. He stares intently into the mirror, wondering when he'd lost a grasp on reality. Since when is it April? And, pray tell, when had a whole year passed since junior prom where Troy had, yet again, ruined a piece of his life?

It's his last dance of high school, his last remaining event before graduation. He tries not to reflect on the last four years. Lessons had been learned, mistakes had happened, paths had been chosen, hearts had been healed then broken, friendships had been made, and lovers had been gained and lost.

Whoever said high school was the best years of their life had clearly been on drugs. It had been anything but the best years of his life. They had been tedious, tough, and tiring – Ryan was relieved that there was only a month left. Then he could finally get away from it all.

He's snapped out his reverie when an arm wraps around his shoulders. In the reflection he smiles slightly at Roger, his exclusively friendly date. Both boys had been at a loss for a counterpart, and no one wanted to go to their senior prom alone.

They head downstairs to take pictures with Sharpay and Zeke, both of them looking stunning in their corresponding outfits. His parents take the photos, and Ryan can't help but tease them about the sappy moisture in their eyes. When Sharpay and he get together for a sibling snapshot, Ryan slips a diamond-encrusted bracelet onto her wrist, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"For being there when I needed you, sis," he says softly. She gasps, staring at him in shock. He just shrugs and smiles brightly for the camera. It's the least he could do.

When the foursome arrives at the dance, it's already in full-swing. The music is pounding, people are laughing, and punch is being spiked. And despite every distraction possible available to him, Ryan finds himself scanning the crowd for a mop of brunette hair.

It becomes clear just where Troy is when the student counsel president gets on stage to announce the Prom King and Queen. The Queen is announced first, and Ryan yells and claps as Sharpay is called and she rushes to the platform. After she has her tiara placed on her head, the president names the King.

It's no surprise to anyone that Troy is picked; it is a surprise, however, to find that he _didn't_ go to prom. Everyone looks as confused as Ryan feels. Something inside cracks, and without a thought to what an error he's probably making, he heads for the exit.

After a brief explanation and an apologetic goodbye to Roger, Ryan finds himself in his car heading in a direction he wishes never existed.

He hates Troy for still being able to do this to him.

But he can't help it. And he won't contemplate it, not tonight. For the first time in months, his anger has died down to…numbness, almost. It's as good a time as any to bite the bullet and momentarily put down his guard.

Troy's mom's house is picturesque and California glamorous, so Ryan feels like he's in a movie as he knocks lightly on the wooden door. He wonders what the script has in store for him.

"Hi, Mrs. Bolton…is Troy home?" he asks when she opens the door with a surprised 'oh!'

She leans in to hug him, and Ryan tenses up involuntarily; he's never quite forgiven her for what she put Troy through. He tries to look neutral when she pulls away to answer. "He's upstairs in his room. He told me that he wasn't feeling well, but…perhaps you can cheer him up?" **(1)**

"Perhaps…" he echoes, and takes the first careful step upstairs. Troy's room is obvious, judging by the posters taped to the entrance. The door is slightly cracked open, but nevertheless he taps on the frame. When he doesn't get a response, Ryan takes a deep breath and steps inside.

Troy sits at his desk, staring intently at his computer, apparently engrossed by what adorns the screen. But as Ryan steps closer for a clearer look, his heart stops temporarily in his chest when he does see. It's a picture from last summer at camp. Their clothes were covered in green paint after the kids decided to play human canopy; in the photograph, Troy is finger-painting a red design on Ryan's cheek, both of them grinning and sitting closer than regular friends would. And Ryan, in real life, feels his throat constrict with emotion.

He clears his throat to rid the sensation, but that consequently alerts Troy of his presence. The boy whirls around in his chair, and when their eyes look, Ryan feels every bit of resistance crumble inside of him. Giving no thought to the action, he turns on the stereo and holds out his hand. "You weren't at prom. May I at least have this dance?"

Troy takes his hand quickly, as though afraid that Ryan may change his mind. Anything but; Ryan slides his arms around Troy's waist, pulling him closer.

When Troy wraps his own arms around Ryan's neck, they seem to click again.

They sway together for a long time, Troy's grip tightening with each passing moment. Ryan ignores it until he feels the other boy being to tremble. He's about to question it when he hears the most heartbreaking, muffled sob come from Troy.

"I'm so sorry, Ryan. Oh god, I'm so, so sorry. Please believe me…I'm just so fucking sorry…"

And Ryan tells him it is okay, assures him it is okay, even if it'll _never_ be okay again. If only for tonight, they can pretend that they'll be alright in the end.

"This is the way things were meant to be," Ryan murmurs, holding Troy against him gently. "We…weren't."

Though time may fly, for that very moment it stood still in honor of them; two lost lovers with only a song holding them together.

--

As it turns out, things are _okay_. Not as amazing as when they were together, but they're talking again, and that's always a plus.

Ryan learns that Troy's mother is dating again, which means Troy's nifty plan obviously hadn't worked to repair his family. He also discovers that Troy and Jamie – the cheerleader – broke up months ago.

They always evade the topic on Ryan's mind. Both refuse to discuss the past, almost as though it hurts too much to relive their relationship and where it went so amiss By avoiding the talk, it's ensuring that they won't feed the flame that still lurks somewhere beneath Ryan's walls.

It's better that way. It's okay on a whole different level, but still okay.

--

No one is perfect and no one ever will be. Everyone makes mistakes, regardless if they're Gandhi's great-grandson, the president, the missing link, or the Pope himself. It's inevitable to make blunders that, in retrospect, one will marvel at what the fuck they were thinking.

It is one of those times for Ryan as he sits in his own room with Troy. _What the fuck was I thinking?_ He wonders as he stares at Troy in shock. This has become more than a bad idea – it's become a disaster waiting to happen. And Troy is continuing to wait for an answer.

When Troy had called only twenty minutes earlier, begging to talk with him, the urgency in his voice had an undesired effect on Ryan. He'd invited the other boy over but was beginning to wish he hadn't. **(2)**

"How do you feel about me?" Troy had asked the second they were safely shut inside Ryan's room.

The words are on the tip of his tongue. He _knows _how he feels; damn it, how could he not? He knows what Troy means by _feel_. What he's actually saying is, 'Do you still love me?' And Ryan wants to scream yes, he never stopped.

But he just…can't. And _why_ _not_? Hadn't he been pining after the brunette for months since their breakup?

"I once heard that it's impossible to fall out of love," Ryan muses, his gaze that was originally directed away from Troy sweeping back to him. They lock eyes, and he continues softly, "And I know it true. But I don't think you know just how much you hurt me, Troy. I'm not…I'm not sure I could handle that again from you. You do things to me I can't prevent, and they're dangerous. I…I'm not strong enough to survive you again."

"And you won't need to," Troy says firmly, approaching Ryan and suddenly pushing him carefully against the nearest wall. Their torsos flush together, Ryan gasps at the sensation he missed so much. He tries to focus his attention back on Troy.

"I was so damn _stupid_, Ryan. I thought I had destroyed my family by being…well, gay. I thought that if I went back to the way I was before, then things would eventually go back to the way things were…and that meant leaving you. But Ryan…I've never been more miserable in my life. Fuck, I went back to the way I was, but the way things were are not the way I thought. It's just…I realized that being depressed would not heal my family, and it was fucking childish to think so, you know? And now I'm begging for your forgiveness…I'll even get on my knees. Please forgive me… Let me make it up to you, Ryan…Let me…kiss you."

Troy's mouth is hovering only mere inches from his lips now. The other boy's hips are digging into his, his arousal speaking multitudes of desire, and Troy's wanton eyes are pleading desperate permission to let him back in.

He knows what he _wants_. Ryan would like nothing more than to be pounded into his bed couch and feel a release he hasn't felt in months. He wants to be dominated and claim Troy in return. He _wants_ to say yes, but is that what he _needs_?

Sincerity has always been a strong point of Troy's, which in turn has always been a weakness for Ryan. When Troy gushes and speaks in an almost poetic way, Ryan has a struggle deciphering the difference between the floor and the ceiling. He's been blinded by the beauty of Troy's mouth before, so why would he have reason to believe every sentence is genuine? What if tomorrow Ryan finds himself permanently destroyed? It's a hazardous risk he isn't sure he's willing to take again.

"When I saw you and Roger together, I was a wreck. I couldn't eat or sleep. I…I want to go back to the way things were before I screwed us up. I want to be able to love you again. I don't want you to hate me. When you told me that, I…I can't even tell you how I felt. Please don't hate me, Ryan. Please give me a chance to fix this. _Please_…"

Love isn't easy, though. Love isa dangerous threat that one has to jump head first into or live a life in solitude. And he knows he loves Troy. He knows that they've both loved each other for nearly a year, and Troy did what he thought was best. It obviously wasn't the greatest, but Ryan's never been one to hold a grudge. It would be idiotic to ignore Troy's honesty.

So Ryan has a choice. Either he forgives Troy and let himself be kissed, or he could push the other boy from his body and walk out the door. The latter is the safer, uncomplicated road that he itches to take. By accepting Troy into his life again, he's jeopardizing his fragile heart. The question is: is he readily willing to forget?

Ryan's hand slides up Troy's backside to the base of his neck. With a wary smile, he manages to ask, "Do you still love me?"

Troy leans down and places a single kiss onto Ryan's mouth that sends a bolt of electricity, the feeling of _life_, through his body.

"From always to forever until eternity, I will love you," Troy whispers against his cheek, hot breath washing over him. A soft moan mixed with desire and surrender escapes his lips, and Ryan nods.

He is most certainly willing to forget.

As he takes Troy's hand and leads him to the bed, he decides mistakes can be a blessing occasionally.

--

Ryan groggily opens his eyes to a pitch black, pinned between a soft bed and a warm cover. There's a fairly heavy weight thrown across his chest and he's surrounded by a soothing aroma. His heart beats a little faster when memories of the night before aren't quite clear.

But when he turns around, and through the dim room he sees an outline of a profile he'd recognize anywhere, he smiles.

He isn't sure what time it is and he knows Troy probably should've gone home hours ago, but he can't bring himself to care. Instead, he reaches out and touches Troy's cheek, stroking his soft skin. Part of him is still afraid that he'll suddenly wake up and realize last night had not, in fact, happened.

As he continues caressing Troy's face, there's a sharp inhale and Troy jolts up in his bed. When his eyes land on Ryan through the darkness, he grins lazily at him, bright eyes sparkling even without the light.

"Hey," Troy murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. With a content sigh, he snuggles back into Ryan's chest and lets out a satisfied moan. "I guess we fell asleep."

Ryan runs his fingers through Troy's hair, wondering if it would be too inappropriate to say anything suggestive after so little time being reunited. After careful deliberation, he decides to tone his initial thought down. "I love waking up with you in bed."

Because his face is pressed into Ryan's body, he can feel Troy's grin. "That's not the only thing I love doing with you in bed," he teases, and Ryan feels a warm sensation pulse through his body, specifically down south. According to Troy, it hadn't been too early.

"You're a dirty, dirty boy, Troy," Ryan says solemnly as he tries to shift his sudden arousal away discreetly. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), Ryan never mastered subtlety.

Troy lifts his head, and Ryan wants to smack the big tease for oh-so casually bringing his jean-clad hips closer. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

Slowly, mischievously, Troy brings his hand up and under Ryan's t-shirt, his skin hot to the touch. Ryan shudders as his fingers circle his nipple, gently tugging on it. This almost feels better – more _special_ would be the proper word – as he moans and grows harder to each touch.

When Troy begins sucking on his neck and slipping his hand down Ryan's pants, he knows that this will become the Fourth of July all over again. Fireworks included.

--

"What's this?"

Ryan is sitting at the desk in his room, surfing New York University's website, when the question tears his attention behind him. Swiveling in his chair with an eyebrow cocked, he turns to the boy that lies on the bed wearing only a sheet strewn across his hips. Ryan bites his lip to hide the enormous grin threatening to split his face at the absolute sexiness…

Remembering the question, he clears his throat. "What's what?"

Troy holds up a miniature, dust-covered box that almost jogs a memory. The look across Troy's face is rather suspicious, so Ryan abandons his desk to take a closer look. The package is wrapped in a red paper with golden, wrinkled bow adorning the top. Before Ryan can even reach the bed, Troy rips off the paper, his face hardened into thought.

Gingerly sitting down on the side of the bed, Ryan studies Troy's expression closely as the brunette opens the gift and peeks inside. "Ah. I thought so." And that's all Troy says.

"Ah?" Ryan repeats, attempting to crane his neck for a glimpse, but Troy pushes off the mattress to his feet. He whistles at Troy after the delicious eyeful he receives, but Troy just rolls his eyes and mutters something about horny men.

When he's about to retort, he finds that the oxygen is no longer flowing to his brain, and he sways a little. Troy gets down on one knee, grinning that goofy grin Ryan can't seem to get enough of during the last three weeks. Heart swelling and mind a chaotic mess of emotions, Ryan tells himself to shut up and wait.

Troy removes a velvet case from the petite box and holds it out. His fingers slowly open it to reveal a beautiful, platinum ring. A hint of gold mixes into the flawless silver, or perhaps it's the morning light peeking through the curtains, but regardless his breath is sucked from his chest completely.

"This is the Christmas present I left under your tree before I left," Troy explains, his eyes sparkling in amusement. Ryan blushes a little as his immaturity is revealed for shoving the gift under his bed, but Troy doesn't mention it. "At the time, I didn't know how I would fuck everything up, but you know what? I'm glad that it's taken months for you to see it. Kind of makes it more special.

"It's a promise ring. Just…I don't know. Promising that no matter what – divorces or Rogers or mistakes that may come in between us – I will love you. It isn't much but it is proof more than only words, you know?"

Ryan stares at Troy with sappy tears in his eyes and he laughs at his silliness, blinking rapidly to fight them. "You…are more proof than a ring, Troy. God, just when I thought you couldn't queer it up even more…!"

The band is discarded on the nightstand as Troy tackles Ryan into the bed with a mock-offended laugh and, in turn, Ryan pulls them taut together, kissing him as though they are actually engaged. Ryan has not been this happy in too long, and he cannot stop the ridiculous grin, even as Troy's hand slips down his pants.

Sometimes, Troy's perfection affected Ryan in ways he didn't know possible. There wasn't even a specific promise in the gesture, not really, but it meant more to Ryan than anything had in…

Well, forever.

--

When Ryan was exactly eighteen years old, he accepted the fact that he would always love Troy Bolton. Though he and Troy would always have their dysfunctional problems through the years, he could not help but find everything about the basketball hero perfect. And he'd learned to love it.

He remembers each single terrifying moment and wanting nothing more than to give everything unknown up – love, heartbreak, indescribable passion and inexpressible hate. Foreign didn't work so well with Ryan. He liked familiarity, and that was that.

Everyone in the world seemed to have it easier than Ryan did. Ever since Ryan was old enough, he had plenty of troubles with the world. He needed someone. He needed _love_. An enormous fear was pulsing through his bloodstream, something most did not have, and falling in love with Troy was no exception.

So as he lay sprawled out in Troy's bed, naked and panting in the afterglow of incredible sex, Troy suddenly placed his hand on Ryan's chest. "Are you okay?" he'd asked with a compassionate, tender smile that one could only find in a lover.

"No," Ryan had answered honestly. There was no use in lying. Faking the truth only led to further problems, so he never did, especially while trying to mend a fractured relationship. "I don't know anything anymore. All I know is that I love you. I have no clue where to head after that."

Troy had grinned and pulled out the promise ring from the dresser. "I'll be yours eternally, regardless of where we may go from here," Troy had murmured, holding out the gorgeous band that meant an extraordinary future.

"You will?"

"I swear."

And this time, it happened. Troy ended up being the best lover and kept his promise, and that was that.

**-END-**

Footnotes:  
**(1) **If you remember correctly, at the end of 'To Disembark,' it's made very clear that Mrs. Bolton _does _like Ryan. Why else would she have so easily let go of Troy? He was in good hands. Cough.  
**(2) **I've been told this part is confusing. They are in _Ryan's _room; Troy begged to see Ryan and Ryan _invited _Troy over to _his _house. Clear? Good.

Oh wow. This monstrosity is done. Hope you all enjoyed! I know, I know. I'm evil for doing that to them for so long. Let's be rational, though. I didn't want to get them into a car crash, I didn't want anyone cheating, and I certainly didn't want them to suddenly fall out of love. I thought breaking up cleanly was best because Troy was being an idiot, per usual. Plus, I wanted to incorporate Roger in there somewhere. He worked nicely, no?

And if, say, you choose to click review, want to tell me which one you liked better? The original or the sequel? I'm really interested.

…Hmm. Maybe this can be a _trilogy_…?


End file.
